“Did you ever get placed anywhere? In a real home?” Sean was placed in one with a few other boys, and from all that he shared with me, it was a true home to him. The other boys were like brothers to him, and his foster mother genuinely cared about them all.

“Nope. No one wanted to let a kid with HTS into their house.” She utters this matter-of-factly, but there’s a brief flash of emotion in her eyes. She wasn’t as unaffected as she would like me to think.

I instantly sense a difference when I step into the main room. There’s a tension that hadn’t been there before. Everyone seems on edge. Maybe it’s because Caden and Marcus are gone. Terrence stayed behind, and he’s a captain, but his silent watchfulness doesn’t seem to lend much comfort. Several eyes stray to the metal stairs as if waiting for Caden and Marcus to appear. I can understand their anxiousness. At least regarding Caden. I’d feel better if he were here, too.

“Coming, Davy?” Junie asks, picking up a tray at the end of the food line. There are only a few people ahead of us.

Nodding, I accept the tray she offers me.

She leans close and whispers conspiratorially, “Avoid the eggs. They’re that fake crap. Now, the French toast is good. Fried in butter and sprinkled with sugar, you can’t tell the bread is stale.”

I smile again, glad Caden placed me with this girl.

Janie drops a plate of French toast on my tray with a wink. “There. You’ll almost feel like you’re back home and not in some underground bunker.”

Yeah. Almost.

* * *

Please advise if you have recently taken in three carriers. Two males, one female going by the names Sean, Gil, and Sabine. Awaiting reply.

Message sent to Refuges 1, 2, 3, 4

THIRTEEN

THE FOLLOWING DAY, I VISIT PHELPS IN THE INFIRMARY, and I let him look me over. Junie accompanies me. I can’t help enjoying her company. I sit beside her during meals, and she’s introduced me to a few of the other permanent residents of the compound. Without Caden, her presence makes me feel safe even though part of me wants to keep my distance.

The other refugees who are waiting for the next convoy to Mexico sit grouped together and mingle very little with the rest of the general population. I should join them. I have more in common with them, after all. I’m just passing through. And one of the permanent residents did try to kill me. Surely Hoyt has made some friends in the ranks. Someone who might desire a little payback. His cousin can’t be the only one upset over his death. But I somehow can’t make myself cross to the convoy group.

To my relief, I’m not quite the spectacle anymore. Hardly anyone stares at me as I walk around the compound with Junie. I join her as she trains. I do some leg weights, careful not to jostle my arm in its new sling. When she meets with other scouts and they pore over a map, sharing information about where they last spotted border patrols, she lets me observe. I stand back, absorbing everything in silence as they point to areas on the map . . . although no one reveals precisely where we’re located. Still. It feels good to be accepted . . . to maybe have found a friend in Junie.

That should lull me to sleep at night and make the air flow easier in and out of my lips. And yet it doesn’t. Not entirely. Nothing does until two days later, when shouts ring out through the compound. They’re back. Caden is back.

I didn’t realize how tense I had been all this time. How tight the breath had been in my chest, trapped there. I toss down the English-to-Spanish dictionary Junie loaned me—I figured I better brush up—and slide off my bed, joining everyone else who crowds into the main room, looking up at the dozen figures clambering down the iron ladder, heavy boots clanging on the grated steps.

Junie appears at my side, breathless like she has just run from somewhere. “They made it.”

I don’t even glance at her face. I know she’s smiling. I can hear it in her voice. Everyone cheers. My eyes find Caden, skimming over him, searching for injuries. It’s a purely calculated move on my part. I trust him the most here. He’s promised to get me to Mexico. Of course I want nothing to happen to him. That would be bad for me. I tell myself these things and almost believe them.

He drops down onto the main floor, light on his feet, and he’s rushed like a returning hero. Marcus joins him and receives similar treatment. Claps on the back. Words of praise. Questions about how it went.

They carry several packs, which Terrence starts looking through. He pulls out a box, glances at it, and tosses it to Phelps, who turns it around in his hands. “Antibiotics?”

“Courtesy of the Wainwright Agency.” Satisfaction rings in Caden’s voice.

“You raided their supplies?”

“Couple of us snuck in and might have borrowed a few things.”

Phelps whoops and moves to investigate the rest of the bags’ contents. A faint glimmer of respect fills me. It really is remarkable what they’ve done here. They’re trying to build something civilized here while helping other carriers at the same time. My gaze returns to Caden. He could just run. Look out for his own neck and flee into Mexico. Especially since his father died. Nothing holds him here. And yet here he is. It’s an admirable thing.

The group starts to disperse. Caden’s gaze scans the crowd like he’s looking for someone. I force myself to breathe. My chest loosens a bit as air passes out of my expanding lungs.

Suddenly someone steps directly in front of him, blocking him partly from my line of vision. Tabatha. I recognize the long rope of her dark braid. She stands up on her tiptoes and plants her mouth on his. Several whistles ring out. My face grows hot. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away.